


Various Storms and Saints

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Tumblr prompt: Belle knows her lover, Mr. Gold, is a vampire. She asks him to change her so they can be together forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Various Storms and Saints

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a stupid amount of head canon and backstory for this but I had to contain it all or I would have created another monster. I'm not sure it's 100% in the spirit of the prompt, but I kinda like where it went. Title is from the Florence + the Machine song of the same name, which inspired me for this.

“Change me,” she said.

Her voice was breathless and strained, her accent thick, as his long, deft fingers plucked the laces of her bodice free.

He stilled his hands and looked up at her. Their eyes met over her breasts, contained by her corset, and he licked his lips, waiting to be sure of what he just heard. She shifted to sit up a bit, reclining against the many pillows on the bed, and he moved back, lying propped on one elbow between her legs.

“Change me,” she repeated, more emphatically. “Make me like you.”

“My lady –” he started, pushing himself to sit.

She tossed her head back and laughed, loud and short, and then fixed him with a hard stare. “We both know I am no lady. Not anymore."

He eyed her for a moment before his mouth quirked into a crooked grin, and hers followed suit a beat later. She reached out her hand to beckon him to her, and he moved up her body, bending his head to kiss her. He tasted wine and chocolate as he slid his tongue over hers, and she sighed into his mouth. If he did as she requested, if he made her like him, he would miss that, the heady decadence that makes her so human to him. His palm flattened over her belly, then trailed over the lace and bindings of her corset. His fingers flexed and skimmed up and over her right breast to the fair skin of her chest and then her neck. Her fingers slipped into his hair, trying to pull him closer, but he resisted, holding himself off of her.

His hips straddled hers, but except for his hand and mouth no other part of him pressed against her. He knew that frustrated her, and he liked how it made her want and need him more. He wondered if she would still want him as much if she knew what it was really like to be as he was, to live this long, longer than anyone should, to be blessed and cursed at the same time.  
He was foolish enough to think she still would.

It had been almost a year of playing this dangerous game, of going behind her lord’s back, dodging the rumors at court. He could - _should_ \- have killed her and moved on.

He'd been here too long already.

He broke the kiss and pulled away, sitting back on his heels and pushing his right hand against her throat. His fingers wrapped around one side, felt for the gap in the muscles as his thumb found the same spot on the other side and applied just enough pressure. She sucked in a choked gasp and her eyes went wide.

She grasped his wrist but didn’t try to pull his hand away. It would have been useless; she knew he was impossibly strong and that he would only let go when he was good and ready. She gasped another breath, feeling the hard thump of her pulse. Spots flashed in her eyes as his fingers flexed slightly, and she was reminded that he could kill her, could have always done so if he wanted. A second later, he snatched the narrow dagger from her bedside table, the one that was usually tucked between her breasts, and flipped it in his hand.

He laid the tip against her chest, the point just barely puckering her fair skin. She breathed, ragged and heavy, and worked her throat against his palm to swallow. Her eyes closed for a moment and then fluttered open. He was still staring down at her, his eyes dark and penetrating as she waited for him to just do _something_ , to end her, to make love to her, to bring her back to life.

The dagger pricked her skin, and she hissed in pain, but then moaned when he let go of her throat and his tongue followed the rivulet of blood trailing over her collarbone.

“Please, Rum,” she said, quiet and thick from the dryness in her mouth.

He pulled back and blinked slowly, and then a beat later swept the knife down the front of her corset, tearing it in two. She gasped and arched her back, the sides of her bodice falling away to reveal her breasts to his gaze.

He set the dagger aside, knocking one of her porcelain tea cups to the floor.

He glanced to the side as she laughed. “I think I broke it,” he said.

“It’s just a cup,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You can buy me another.”

He shook his head and look down at her, his expression so serious it nearly stole the breath from her. He knew he was a monster, a beast undeserving of this perfect beauty. He could fuck her and leave, drink just enough from her that she would sleep until tea time the next day. He could be in London by then, or Amsterdam. Deep down he was still a coward.

“Do you love me?” she asked. She knew what he was thinking when he looked at her that way.

“Most desperately,” he answered, voice choked with emotion, and took her hands in his, lifting them to his lips to kiss her fingertips. 

She hummed, smiling slightly, but then turned serious. “Was it a lie when you said you wanted to be with me forever?”

He swallowed. “Belle, you don’t know what forever means. I –” He stopped when she pressed her fingers against his lips.

“Then show me,” she pleaded. “Free me from all this. I want to go with you. Forever.”

His nod was almost imperceptible, and he licked his lips as he bent his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His hands spread over her thighs, and she parted her legs, opening herself for him as he leaned forward to press a soft, chaste kiss to her mouth. She whispered his name as he pulled away. His real name, not just the one he’d given himself for the next few years, the one that will change as they cross the bridge heading out of the city, but the one given to him by a Roman coward of a father and a mother who died too young.

She was the first to know his true name, beyond the one who made him, and he knew when he told it to her that this would happen eventually. She watched him, patiently, unlike usual, because she knew this would be the last time she did so with her humanity intact. 

A part of her wanted to savor it. Another part just wanted to know what it would be like on the other side. He slid back and settled on his stomach between her legs, sweeping his thumb over the two scars on the inside of her right thigh.

She sighed and remembered the night he first made them.

“Are you sure?” he said against her skin.

She nodded again. “Yes. No one decides my fate but me. Not anymore.”

He opened his mouth over her, licked at her quickly, working his tongue between her soft folds. She spread her legs wider and gripped the blanket beneath her, digging her nails into the silken material. He made a low, throaty sound that vibrated against her center, the same pleased sound as when he slides inside her, stretches and fills her all the way. He was the first to do this to her, put his mouth on her and taste her this intimately; not even her husband had.

She looked down, watching her lover lap at her, hold her open with his thumbs as he sucked at her clit and made her writhe. He used his hands to cant her hips, to move her where he wanted her, only to split her open again and drive his tongue deeper. She cried his name, scraped at his bare shoulder with one hand while the other clawed at the bed.

He loved how she tasted, how she moved, how she sounded. He could feel her pulse under his tongue, her body throbbing with want for him. The darkness stirred inside him, but he fought against it, wanting to hold it off as long as possible. Praying it was at least long enough to please her. When she grabbed his hair and held him against her, shifted her hips and rubbed herself against his mouth, he couldn’t help it. She made such wonderful noises, rough and feral, and it ripped the demon out of him.

He stopped and pulled away, and she keened, but when he looked up and met her eyes the air rushed out of her. His eyes were almost black, but there was a glow deep in them, the light reflecting from the fireplace like in her cat’s eyes. He raised his head, licked his lips, and she could see his fangs, sharp and white, distorting his mouth subtly.

He could see fear in her eyes, but there was something else too, curiosity maybe, or –

She closed her eyes and swallowed. “Do it.”

His eyes went wide and he hesitating, needing to be sure she wanted what she was asking for.

“Do it,” she repeated, meeting his gaze once again. ”You want to.”

“Belle –”

She smiled and licked her lips slowly, eyes shining with dangerous anticipation. “You don’t want to be alone anymore do you?” He didn’t answer, but she already knew. “I want you to. _Please_.”

He swallowed and considered her for a moment, but knew somehow that it was going to come to this. She knew what he was before the first time they were together, and she hadn’t been the least bit afraid. Their first times together he had always controlled himself, did his best to hide that part of him, but somehow it was always inevitable.

He sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never have,” she insisted. Her expression was soft as she sat up and ran her fingers through his hair. “I trust you.”

She cried out when his teeth broke the skin and sunk into the flesh of her thigh. There was a sharp pressure as he sucked at her, pulling the blood into his mouth. She could feel the syrupy warmth as a stray drop made its way from his bottom lip down, over her skin and to the bed. It always hurt more than she remembered, but soon the slow burning sensation was running through her. Her body responded as if he were kissing her, touching her, caressing her from the inside out.

He groaned when the first trickle of her blood hit his tongue. It was heady and thick and hot, just like the rest of her. She whimpered and her fingers carded through hair again, their silent signal that she was not distressed. He could feel the ache build in her, mirroring his own desire, so he shifted a bit and pushed two fingers inside her. She tightened around them immediately, her inner walls grasping at him, and cried his name as he worked them in and out, deep and slow.

When she came, he could taste it in her blood.

It was a sudden rush of sweetness that always made him feel dizzy. He knew exactly how much of her he could drink and when he needed to stop, and as soon as the trembling in her body subsided, he pulled his fingers free and swiped at his mouth.

She moaned as she came back to herself, eyes fluttering open to see him looking up at her from between her legs, dark red blood – _her_ blood – staining his mouth. She loved that, loved knowing that a part of her was running through his veins.

“Are you certain?” he asked one last time.

She smiled lazily, still drifting on the waves of bliss he’d given her, and nodded.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her pulse slowed against his lips, the fast throb just under the skin trailing off to barely a whisper as the last, lazy trickle of blood fell over his lips. He withdrew and stretched out alongside her, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

She turned her face to him, fighting the sleep that wanted to take her down, down and under forever, and smiled. He smiled back at her, and lifted his arm, dragging the tip of her knife along his forearm. The first drops landed on the corner of her mouth and her tongue darted out to collect them before he lowered his arm and let her drink.

She never imagined what he would taste like, not on the inside, or how it would feel to take him into her body so intimately. Slowly, she became more aware of everything, the snap of the fire, the feel of the blanket under her, so much more than just sound and touch; they became something she knew, innately, that she could recall in exact detail down to the stray thread tickling the back of her knee.

She was also becoming more aware of him, the feeling of him pressed against her side, his arousal hard at her hip. But more than that she sensed his presence, his – existence. From here forward, she would know, always, where he was, that he was.

When he pulled his wrist away from her mouth she growled, but a moment later he pressed her back against the bed and slid his cock inside her, long and thick and perfect. She came again, almost instantly, and it was so good, so much more than before, their pleasure mixing, increasing, and feeding each other in a whole new way.

She wondered if this was what love was always meant to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He watched and waited while she slept.

There was no steady rise and fall of her chest, no gentle pulse, no twitch of her foot.

She was dead.

But he waited, and hoped, and perhaps prayed a little, though to whom he wasn’t sure. It was hard to believe in gods when you had seen so many come and go. He traced the slope of her nose, the dip above her mouth, the swirl of her ear, with his eyes and then his fingertips, and memorized it all, just in case.

It seemed like days, but really it hadn’t even been one full hour. The candles were only just beginning to drip and the fire was still burning strong, but he had come to realize that time was not something he cared to spend without her.

 

Then her eyes opened slowly, still blue but deeper somehow, with a strange light in them that danced with the firelight, and he smiled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In New York they are Lacey and Edward Gold.

The city seemed so loud and busy, so different from what she knew before, the lazy ease of estates and palaces. Everything was new and strange to her, and already she wished for the gentle countryside outside Paris or the steep coastline of Marseille, but he had done this too many times to count. At least this New World, as they called it, would be something they could experience together.

Traveling by ship was more uncomfortable than she thought, longer too. As they left the docks and the smell of the sea behind, she caught herself eyeing an attractive man in a garish velvet suit and top hat as he stepped out of a carriage. He caught her gaze and there was a flash of recognition there, a silent acknowledgement.

She smiled and he tipped his hat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She scrambled for his belt, her fingers fumbling over the buckle as his frantic hands pushed her dress up.

There was barely enough room in the bed for her, much less him, yet she managed to wriggle a hand into his pants and find his cock ready for her, hot and hard and wet at the tip when she ran her thumb over it. She licked the stickiness from her thumb and he groaned at the sight of it, of her mouth and the red smear around her lips shining in the firelight.

Still high off the kill, they moved together, rough and hard, her back pressed to the wall because there was no headboard to speak of and a straw mattress biting at his knees.

It was always fast and without finesse, the way they fucked after feeding, but neither cared when they were half-gone before they even started. Her nails dug into his back, and he hissed when she broke the skin, shifting and pulling her down to the bed so he could move harder into her. She screamed when she came, and he wondered if the thin paned windows would survive another night.

They both loved this moment the best, the blissful warmth after fucking, the heat, the mess, the blood dried on their mouths.

“Do you still love me?” she asked, her arms circling his neck, holding him against her, needing the weight of him to stay there just a little longer.

He smiled into the crease of her neck. “Most desperately.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In Chicago she went by Isobel, and he was back to Rumford, an old favorite, and hers too, if she’s honest.

His teeth sunk into her shoulder as he pushed into her from behind. It’s some cheap hotel off the interstate, just across the Minnesota border, and while she hated the cold, sometimes getting out of town quickly was a necessary evil.

She could feel the warmth of his mouth and her flesh tearing under the sharp points. He wasn’t gentle, but neither was she when she slammed her hips into his because it had been too long. He let her drink all of their supply so he could take it from her; drink it from her body like when they were first together.

He stopped abruptly and pulled out of her, and she turned over hastily so he could lie between her legs. She didn’t care that the sheets were as rough as the sex, that the heater under the window was broken and hissing, not when he pushed his fangs into her again, broke open the age old scars and made her come hard with his fingers.

It was messy when he kissed her, the blood wet and hot and getting everywhere, but his hips were relentless, pushing his cock into her in a steady beat. She cried his name, his given name, a name that she hadn’t felt on her tongue in a hundred years.

The way he looked at her made her feel reborn.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Storybrooke?”

Belle looked at him skeptically as she wiped a stray drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. She leaned to the side to set her glass on the floor, her leg draped over the arm of the leather chair.

“Why not?” he asked, reclining along the sofa, smiling.

Belle sighed. “Because it’s small and there’s no where to hide what we are.”

He smirked. “I thought you wanted peace and quiet for a while?”

She fixed him with a look. “I suppose this has nothing to do with what Jefferson said about making a community somewhere.”

He smirk shifted to more of a cheeky grin and he licked his lips, watching her over the rim of his glass as he raised it to his mouth. “Of course not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, “if you don’t want to go we don’t have to. But Jefferson is already there and he wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t safe.”

Belle stood and moved from her chair to the sofa, settling herself across his lap, her arms looped around his neck.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yes, my lady?”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “We can try it for a while, I suppose. I have missed the ocean.”

He grinned and tipped his head up for her kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out to be just what they had always been looking for, and for the first time in all his centuries, he can feel the wanderlust abate.

There’s a coven of witches, a werewolf named Ruby that Belle befriends quickly, and Jefferson’s own special brand of crazy. They feel safe, even though they aren’t among their own kind, and the almost constant overcast, rainy weather reminds him of his first home. She finds an old, pink Victorian, and of course he buys it because he could never deny her anything, not even eternity.

The stairs creaked, the windows were drafty, and the unused bedrooms upstairs constantly smelled of mothballs, but it was the most at home they’d ever felt.

“Do you still love me?” she asked, enjoying the strangled noise he made as her hand wrapped around the base of his cock. She held him firmly while her hips rocked, sliding him through her slick folds.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Most desperately, my love.”

His hand clutched at the sheets, fighting the urge to grab her hips and pull her down on him. She licked her lips and gave him one last squeeze before she slid down on him, taking his full length in one swift movement of her hips.

He cried out and grasped at her thighs as she rocked against him, her movements unhurried and almost languid. She cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples, and ground against him until he let out the most plaintive sound. He started to thrust up into her, causing her lose her slow rhythm. The came together faster and harder, pulling sweet, gasping sounds from each other.

Her head fell back, stretching the pale, elegant line of her throat as she pushed herself down hard, her walls started to flutter around him. He stared up at the two scars, the only blemishes on her otherwise perfect skin. Unable to resist, he sat up and licked at the base of her throat, teeth scraping tenderly against her pulse point.

She cried out and tilted her head to the side, trying to keep the urgent pace as they moved together. Her nails bit into his back, drawing pin pricks of blood, but the flash of pain only heightened the sensations as he fucked her harder. His fangs slipped out and into the flesh of her neck, smoothly piercing the skin.

He sucked hard and she came with a scream, her hand clutching at the back of his neck, holding him to her as she fought to keep moving. As soon as the first rush of blood flowed over his tongue and he tasted the sweetness of her orgasm, he followed her over the edge.

They stayed like that for some time, her legs wrapped around him as his cocked softened inside her, his face buried against her neck, sticky and wet with blood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were in Paris again, finally, the horrors that had ended their time in Storybrooke behind them.

Belle thought it was strange how the smell of the city hadn’t changed in all the centuries they’d been gone. She loved that about the old world, how even the newest parts are still old, still classic, still familiar. Somewhere Jefferson was strolling down the street in Saint-Honoré with his wolf girl on his arm, and the thought helped give her peace. They would all survive, move on, live on. Forever was cliche for most people, but for them it was truth.

She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back, and sighed at the satisfying pop of her joints. The pleased little noise she made was enough to get his attention, and he came back in from the balcony, leaving the curtains to flutter in the late afternoon breeze. He stopped at the end of the bed to shed his clothes, smiling at her as she watched and licked her lips.

He crawled up her body and bent to kiss her, swallowing the light sound she made when his fingers slipped into her hair. He was different now, less angry and hungry, and it was another thing he had never anticipated, that somehow time and her could make him softer instead of harder.

She moaned when he tasted her, licked her greedily, and for just a moment, with his tongue pressed flat against her clit, he swore he could feel her pulse again.

She came with a soft sigh, her legs tensing slightly and pressing against the sides of his head. He looked up at her, their eyes meeting over her bare breasts, and he knew without a doubt he would do it again. 

And she would ask him, too.


End file.
